My Heart Stood Still by Lynn Kurland (best book club books of all time .TXT) 📕

"Why did you come to Thorpewold?" she demanded. "What foul fancy possessed you to come here?"

"Well," he said with a smile, " 'tis quite a tale, and I'm more than happy to relate it. Now, after my untimely demise—"

"At the hands of an angry, cuckolded husband, no doubt," she muttered.

"Quite so, my dear. As I was saying, after my untimely demise, I was visiting my club, as one does you know, and I heard tell of a beauty in the north that was simply not to be missed."

The Highlands. Aye, she could understand that. Iolanthe sighed in spite of herself. She rarely allowed herself to miss her homeland, but there were times that the longing rose up so sharply in her that she could scarce bear it. She turned her face away, lest the Victorian fool see her tears.

"Then you stopped too soon," she said. "You missed your journey's end by many miles."

"But, my dear, you were my journey's end."

She had to look at him, she was so surprised by his words. "Me?"

"Word does get 'round, you know," he said, digging into his waistcoat pocket. He produced his snuff case and began to lighten it of its contents.

Iolanthe could hardly believe anyone would think her beautiful, much less take that tale all the way to London. She knew her limitations. She was too tall. She was too old. By the saints, she'd been almost a score and five when—

She jerked her mind away from the memory and glared at her companion.

"You would be," she said sharply, "far more attractive if you did not poke that foul weed up your nose. I scarce know how your scores of women bore watching you do it."

He stretched lazily. "I had other attributes that more than made up for any aversion to snuff a woman might have had."

She had no desire to learn any more about his attributes. He was fair enough, she supposed, if you wanted a man who was more concerned about the length of his eyelashes than he was about whether or not he could wield a sword. But he was certainly not for her, especially with his incessant prying into things he was not entitled to know.

"Would you care to examine my attributes ... Virtue?"

Iolanthe would have sharpened her tongue on him, but just at the moment when she might have begun such a thing, Duncan came hurrying around the corner. He came to an abrupt halt in front of her.

"Bit of a battle," he announced.

Iolanthe was unsurprised. She thought she'd heard a goodly amount of noise a while back, but she'd certainly had no desire to interrupt it. Men were men, she had decided several hundred years ago, and were best left to their games when it suited them. Besides, the men of her keep were a more vigorous lot than most and had need of their exercise. Fighting passed the time most pleasantly.

She waved her hand dismissively. "Ever they bicker amongst themselves, Duncan. No harm done."

He shook his head. " 'Twould have been nothing of note had it been merely amongst themselves. They're trying to heave a man out of the hall—"

Iolanthe was on her feet before she knew she intended to rise. "Him? The Yank?"

"Oh, delightful," Roderick said, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. "Let us go examine him, my dear. It seems decades since last I saw one."

Iolanthe glared at him. " 'Twas but a pair of days ago, you fool. The lad and the lass ran screaming from the garden, or don't you remember?"

He opened his mouth to no doubt spout some sort of foolishness she had no desire to listen to, so she turned and walked away, not caring if he followed or not. She couldn't spare Duncan to dispatch him at present.

"How are the men?" she asked Duncan.

"Debating how best to kill him," he said, striding alongside her.

"Awfully unsporting of them," Roderick said, catching up on her other side.

Duncan growled at him. "Shut up, ya frilly fool. We've no need of yer judgments."

And Roderick, who had spent his share of time being heaved by Duncan off battlements and being run through by Duncan's great sword, apparently decided silence was more prudent than speech. He shut his mouth.

"We cannot slay him," Iolanthe said firmly. "It will only bring his kin upon us, as well as no doubt the king's—"

"Queen's," Roderick corrected.

Iolanthe blinked in surprise. "Queen? Another one?"

"Another Elizabeth," Roderick informed her with what she could only term a bit of smugness. "She's been on the throne for quite some time now."

Iolanthe scowled. "Queen's men, then. Those we want even less banging on our gates."

Aye, that was all she needed. She'd had freedom from the interventions of the outside world for, what had it been? Decades? Centuries? Visitors were one thing, either of the mortal or not-so-mortal kind. Those she could ignore readily enough. But trouble from the Crown? Nay, that she could not have.

And then there was the man inside her gates to consider. If this Colonist was determined enough to give his hardearned gold for her keep, then he was likely not a man to be ignored.

Perhaps it would have to be death for him after all.

She walked through the inner bailey to find a gaggle of men clustered there. As she approached, she heard their spirited conversation.

"Slit his throat," one offered.

"Poke him repeatedly with a sword," offered another.

"Put out his eyes," chortled yet another.

"Nay," said another. "Heave him full into the ditch and let him drown. It'll rain soon enough and choke the life from him."

Iolanthe tried to see over the men, but that was a futile exercise. She tried to politely make herself a path, but apparently the thought of a bloody battle had left the men quite unwilling to give up a good spot for watching any possible sport. Iolanthe was forced to push, shove, and make a nuisance of herself before she was grudgingly allowed a place at the front of the group. She glared at the men she